


The Light In the Darkness

by Doctor_RainbowFoxey



Series: Renegades [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Bonding, Multiverse, Seduction, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_RainbowFoxey/pseuds/Doctor_RainbowFoxey
Summary: Set after Uncanny 12:  After breaking into the mutant detainment center, Logan’s plans to rescue their comrades are foiled.  To make matters worse the duo finds themselves captured and at the mercy of the villains.  However all is not what it seems, the facility has been taken over terrifying alternate universe versions of friends they have lost. Most worrisome of all is the man behind this whole sordid affair and his fiendish machinations.Additionally, the experiments the villains are conducting on our two heroes are having dire results.  Bad as things are for him, it is Cyclop’s welfare that Wolverine is concerned about.  Plagued with visions from universes that are not his own, Scott understands his friend's trepidation,  for it is one he shares.





	1. A Dreaming Hero

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter was previously posted on my anthology The Adventures of Scott and Logan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Logan anchor each-other against the storm they have found themselves the eye of it’s ravages. Fortunately Cyclops has a plan and Wolverine can’t help but hope.

He died, again and again, a thousand different ways. Each gasping return was a bitter-sweet reunion or a cruel tragic miracle. Chasing on the heels of that gasping instant came the first waves of a raging storm of agony. Sick though it was, currently the pain was a comforting familiarity. Logan currently welcomed the feeling because it reminded him that he was still alive, that it wasn’t too late. The physical pain also served to distract his mind from far worse torments. The fear for the safety of another sunk its claws into him, working in tandem with the rising tide of guilt flooding Logan’s beleaguered mind. God damn sanctimonious Summers, always letting his fool heart get in the way of getting his own six out of dodge. 

Wolverine, while he wasn't chasing Cyke's shadow, had done some digging. He had found some leads on a facility down in West Virginia that was treating imprisoned mutants like lab rats, some of them possibly Xmen. They had made the drive with little hassle. Logan managed to find a few of the guards on a post-work alcohol recreational. He managed to encourage one of the low-life's cooperation and took care of the rest. Or at least Logan thought he had.

Turned out the jerk wasn't as cowed as Wolvie had believed. The bastard had made more of a commotion than a rooster that senses it's gonna be tonight's main course, completely blowing their cover. Logan would feel more angry at the guard if it hadn't resulted in the man being mowed down by his own comrades, after which Scott had made his dramatic entrance and the two had charged through the back door of the hell hole. 

They must have known they were coming somehow. Neither of them had exactly been great at keeping their mugs out of view of the media as they should have been. Maybe dying had made them both reckless and rusty.

He should have sniffed out that trap a mile away, but instead, he’d blundered right into that damn magnetic field. Before Logan knew what his him, he was on his back and screaming as his freaking adamantium skeleton shifted from within following the electromagnetic current's tune. His healing factor didn’t keep him from feeling pain. Nor did it keep the freaking low-lives from playing Cyke’s emotional strings like the pied piper. No amount of Logan screaming was going to make Cyclops change course and save himself from being dragged down into the bloody depths with him.

He yelled at the man to run, that he’d be fine as long as Scott got his do-gooder ass out of dodge. Wolvie ate clandestine government torture like this for breakfast. He’d be fine if Summer’s would just get his gorgeous rear out of dodge. Logan knew it was a fool's errand, but he had to try. They needed Summers more than ever out there. Boy Scout Summers had had the gall to give Logan that small sacrificial smile of his that was too serene, too much like surrender. It felt like a goodbye and Wolverine was not havin’ it.

When the mad quacks were finally finished with their sadism session for the day, they immobilized and dragged Wolverine’s limp body back to his cell, dropping him like he was a sack of rotten belligerent potatoes that had personally wronged them. The one upside was Cyke’s cage was next to his.

“Cyke!” whispered Logan loudly. He was irrationally relieved when he heard a soft whisper of his name and the sound of shifting as the man carefully made his way to his side.

“Logan is that you?” said Scott, sounding way more uncertain than he should be. When he got loose he was going to carve those sick government quacks a new one. He hated the way the restraints magnetic field kept him from being able to release his claws. It made him feel naked and declawed like some domesticated house cat.

“Yes, it’s me Slim who else would it be?” replied Logan, his voice inordinately gruff. He reached through the stark metal bars of the cage ignoring the way they bit into his flesh, and the difficulty maneuvering his cuffed hands so he could grab the man’s hand. Carefully and but firmly he interlaced his fingers with Scott’s. Through trial and error, he had found that this was the best way to ground the man. It was beginning to get harder and harder to break him free from the fog of whatever the thing they were hooking his fool head up to. Logan needed to break them out of here yesterday, but he’d yet to find a successful opportunity.

Wolvie was beyond being embarrassed about the amount of relief that that coursed through him when those fingers gently stroked hand and carefully squeezed back. It meant that Scott was still with him and that he remembered how sore the restraints made his hands from the automatic attempts to his pop his claws straining against the electromagnetic force that bound the metal within. That combined with the power dampeners weakening his healing factor and the continual trips to death's door and back, Logan, if he was honest, wasn’t feelin’ too hot himself. He’d take any pain if it kept Slim talkin’ though.

“Your right there's no mistaking that smell,” he groused with a few grunts caused by his poor sore strained muscles. Scott moved closer and grasped Wolvie’s other manacled hand gently. Logan noticed that for some reason they had foolishly left Cyke’s limbs unrestrained this time. Wolverine looked up into Cyke’s tired but thankfully clear amber eyes beneath the rose quartz of that terrible modified thing the bastards had attached to him. Logan was over the moon with relief to see such clarity instead of the disoriented, mad behavior or even worse no response at all like some of the other times.

“I would have you know that I have just taken a bath!” exclaimed Logan with mock indignation.

“Well, at least they aren’t using you as some kind of multiversal remote or simply getting off on nonconsensual acid trips,” murmured Cyclops,” I swear if a white rabbit shows up…” 

Wolverine raised an eyebrow. The answering smile was brittle and Cyke seemed to have trouble maintaining it. Idiot, even now he’s wasting energy worrying about and trying to console me, thought Logan.

“If bunny does show up I’ll make us some yummy stew,” said Logan. Then he noticed Scott was messing with that contraption. “Hey, stop fiddlin’ we need to get someone who knows what the heck this thing is. You could fry the few brain cells ya got left doin that.”

“They have no idea what they are messing with Logan. We need to escape as soon as possible,” says Cyke seriously.

“Hey, bud I was with ya, yesterday. What cockmaney plan do ya got this time?” asked Wolverine knowingly, those gears in Scott’s head were always churning out crazy plans and schemes. Man had a plan for everything, even what he was havin for breakfast. Logan waited patiently while Scott came up with some crazy plan. What he wasn’t expecting was for him to ask how good Wolvie was at meditatin'.


	2. The Wild Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of three makes an entrance with panache and seductive terror. Will Scott and Logan make it out of this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the help of my beta ineffablelawr and my resident Xmen expert myxmentrashblog

**Earlier:**

The first time they dragged him from his holding cell, Scott, thoroughly shackled as he was, he couldn't put forth any active resistance. Passive resistance is then thought Cyclops and promptly became limp. He refused to move a muscle no matter how much they kicked or prodded him as he lay on his stomach. All in all, Scott thought he was doing a fine job of looking and acting dead to the world. 

The first thing that Scott noticed was the low sound of Logan growling. Disconcerted at what could make Logan growl like that, Summers stayed as still as possible, always good at relying on other senses when sight wasn’t available to him. 

He had scarcely taken a breath before he heard the click-clack of booted feet coming closer and sensed the guards moving away. Then, he heard a warm baritone singing.

“_ Well, there's a dark and a troubled side of life _

_ There's a bright and a sunny side too _

_ But if you meet with the darkness and strife _

_ The sunny side we also may view _.”

The voice sang, echoing early in the prison corridor and off the steel bars. “Come along y'all sing along!!”

“_ Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side. Keep on the sunny side of life _

_ It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way. If we keep on the sunny side of life. _” 

Scott couldn't believe his ears as he heard the guards nervously joining the rich voice of the stranger as his jaunty steps drew near. 

Cyclops opened his eyes and risked raising his head a few inches to try to see what the hell was going on. He saw a man in a well-pressed white suit straight out of the 60s, underneath of which was an emerald and silver striped dress shirt on which was adorned with a lime green bow tie. Discordantly the man's feet were clad not in dress shoe’s as one would expect but rhinestone and embroidered snakeskin boots. The strange man stopped singing cocked his head to the side, listening intently as he motioned for everyone to continue. 

With no warning, the man in the leather boots turned and plunged a knife into the guard on the right's belly penetrating effortlessly through bulletproof armor as if it all was nothing more than butter. With the expertise of a butcher, he moved the knife slowly upward in a surgical manner in such a way that the outer skin was cut without damaging the layers beneath. At the same time, cowboy boots backed his stumbling hapless victim against the cell wall well within Cyclop’s view.

“Tommy...Tommy, Tommy honey we’ve talked about this before,” said the stranger as he closed in on the guard's personal space in a perversely intimate manner, locking deadened green eyes with the panicking man like a cat plays with a mouse, not allowing his prey to break eye contact. “Shhh, shh, I told yah before’ Tommy, that we expect nuthin but perfection, sugar,” said the man as he patted the bleeding man’s cheek.

“An I'm afraid ya just don’t make the cut, sonny,” The plaid clothed man was practically whispering in the other’s ear, and now Scott had an uneasy feeling that those dangerous green eyes were studying him from around the guard's neck, a feeling that was only elevated when green eyes licked his lips with hungry excitement and cocked his head in a canine-like way. 

Now, the man in the violent stranger’s grasp had gone from panicking to hysteria as his attacker released the knife and began to remove one of his gloves in a dramatic fashion of a high-class stripper or a magician. Even though the O.N.E agent was larger and taller, the man seemed paralyzed by the sight of the gloveless hand. 

Something about this gesture was eerily familiar. Scott was haunted for a moment by grief when he remembered that Marie was one of many friends potentially lost to him forever. Fear was replaced by a rising tide of speculation saturated by trepidation. The connection that had once been a lifeline was turned into an anchor that could weigh him down, dragging him down into the dark depths of despair.

“** _What is this, that I can’t see, with ice-cold taking hold of me?_ **” said this warped facsimile of his lost friend in a sing-song voice smooth as silken poison, dark like molasses and cloying like tobacco smoke. 

“Please, please no, I’ll do better from here on,” gasped the man in Snake Boot’s merciless grasp.

“** _When god is gone and the devil takes hold, who will have mercy on your soul?_ **” continued the stranger that Scott prayed only resembled Rogue. If the sacrilegious man had heard his prey’s pleas, the only sign was a widening of his predatory smile. 

“Mercy! Sir, please have mercy,” cried the man struggling like a water buffalo struggles in the vice-like jaws of a lion as they inexorably tighten to crush bone and strangle breath. With a perverse parody of benediction, the cruel bard laid his gloved hand on the top of the man’s forehead as he made a shushing gesture with his other hand as if silencing a cantankerous child. As the petrified O.N.E guard’s pleas came to a whimpering halt.

“** _No wealth, no silver, no gold_ **,” purred the terrifying, handsome violent man as he effortlessly peeled apart his victim’s armor like it was little more than tissue paper revealing the horrendous wound that snake boots had created in the flesh, the trembling bare chest and neck that surrounded it. With the first touch of this insidious fiend’s bare hand, his victim cried out in agony while his tormentor sighed in ecstasy. 

Scott wished he could look away and spare himself from witnessing the horrendous spectacle, but he found himself unable to move a muscle. He was spellbound by this roguish mockery of his friend as his back arched, the head was thrown back, luscious auburn locks revealing the flash of hair as white as freshly fallen snow that crowned them. In no time, Cyclops could see the energy crackling between the two as it flowed from the human and into the vampiric mutant that fed upon it. 

“** _Nothing satisfies me but your soul_ **,” the stranger growled with the finality of the falling blade of the guillotine, his hand becoming a deadly spear as it sliced through the wound that he had already created and onwards deep into the unfortunate man’s innards heightening his prey’s agony as its life was.

Once the man was lifeless and limp, the monster that Cyclops desperately hoped had nothing to do with his friend, jerked its hand free and cast the body aside like a puppeteer would cast aside a disliked puppet.

“Aw shucks, what a mess,” said the psychopath. “Ol’ Victorian is gonna have a duck fit for sure. Meh, I’ll fix him something or he can kiss my go to hell.”

Scott heard the tap-tap of boots on the austere concrete floor and the low almost inaudible sound of Logan growling. 

“Incoming Slim,” Scott heard Logan murmur.

The hero resisted the urge to flinch as he sensed the murderous man draws closer. Suddenly, Cyclops felt a presence looming over him and hot breath on the back of his neck. 

“Why bless my biscuit, what wonders my lord has bequeathed to my hizal. A modern adonis trussed up like Christmas dinner and as supine as a sun-soaked pussy cat,” whispered snake boots into the cornered heroes ear, triggering a shiver of trepidation from Scott despite his best efforts to stay still. For a moment he was struck by the smell of some kind of smoked herb that had an odd spicy edge to it. 

“Hey ya fixin' to lay around all day ya bump in the rug?” Cyclops felt the pressure of the other crouching over him, fretful stirrings of old memories resurfacing and panic. Before the fear could overwhelm him, he forced himself to calm down with considerable difficulty. 

“Wakey, wakey sweet prince,” teased the stranger who resembled his friend too closely for comfort. He could feel the villain crouching over him and his curious hawk-like gaze studying every inch of him.

“Hey, bub if you know what good for you, you’d leave ol’ One eye alone and I’ll give ya somethin to talk about!!” challenged Logan. 

“A bit presumptuous from someone who looks like they’re wild’n no matter how many showers they are forced to take,” said not-Rogue. Out of the corner of his eye, Cyclops could see exasperation accompanied by the sharp sardonic words that flowed with ease from those too-perfect lips. “Do you perceive me to be a simple farm implement? Or do think the sun rises just to hear you crow?”

“Come over here you lunatic and I’ll give ya something to crow about,” growled Logan aggressively.

“What’s with Howlett and his testosterone-fueled validation? Every universe, every instance it’s the same bit,” said the odd man with a dispassionate air. 

“When I carve your flesh it’ll be a thing of beauty,” threatened snake boots sounding like he meant it. 

Scott could see that the man seemed sufficiently distracted. Though he knew this was probably a foolhardy plan, he had to try, needed to show he wasn’t to be taken easily and learn more of what they were up against no matter the cost. In battle, knowledge is power.

Scott, taking advantage of the man’s diverted attention and putting his stealth and flexibility to the test, shimmied like a sea snake into a position that would enable him to strike. Deftly the mutant brought his shackled legs up and kick out with both of them knocking the man on his rear with an oof of surprise. The underdog hero enjoyed a fleeting moment of triumph as he struggled to get his own feet under him, encumbered as he was by the shackles. He had just made it to his knees when Snake Boot’s revenge was upon him like a vengeful tide.

”Slim!! Look out!” Logan’s loud warning was too late if it had had a chance of changing the outcome at all.

Cyclops didn’t even see the first savage roundhouse to his jaw that knocked the mutant back to the ground. Despite reeling from the blow, Cyclops struggled to stand, only to be knocked sprawling, winded and dazed by a brutal kick to his midriff. Before the stubborn son of a space pirate could gather himself for another attempt at rising, the dangerous mutant was upon him. It was effortless for the imposter, who masqueraded as a facsimile of his lost friend, to pin Summers as it would have been for the real McCoy. The way the auburn-haired man straddled Scott he was practically laying on top of the beleaguered visor-adorned mutant. 

Triggered by being boxed in by his assailant, Cyclops was suddenly immersed in memories of a leaky room he had long ago escaped, old memories of being pinned as blows rained down from a drunken Diamond Jack. With effort, Scott Summers pulled himself back from the brink. It was imperative that he gains as much information as possible, find out what the heck was going on. He didn’t have time to lose it right now.

“That was a mighty brave and terribly dumb thing yah just did, sonny,” whispered the man in his Southern accent, his words a contradiction of fluctuating tones, in one instant soft as velvety smoke, cloying like honey, and the next instant cold and sharp as an icicle. Snake boots made himself comfortable, supporting his head in his left arm which was bent at the elbow that rested casually on Scott’s chest. Summers tried not to show how painful the position was on his bound arms or how uncomfortably crowded he felt by the inhumanly strong man above him. 

“Why must you be a stubborn foolish jackass in every dimension?” Abruptly Cyclops became acutely aware of the fiendish man’s bare hand reaching towards him. The X-man gasped in shock, unable to hide his fearful reaction. The man’s instincts for self-preservation prompted Summers to try to escape, but to his despair, he found there was nowhere to go. Scott was held fast in the other’s inhumanly strong grasp. With mocking malevolence, the terrifying mutant waved their deadly hand for Scott’s inspection. 

“Slim!! Damn who are you people?” yelled Logan, trying to distract the bastard before he….No he’s not going to lose anyone else, not Slim. Not again. Wolverine, to his chagrin, found himself frozen in place by dread. 

“Hell’s bells, is everyone in your universe this overly dramatic?” groused the ivory crowned mutant, sultry sarcasm like salt and vinegar infused in every word. “You think me some kind crude plebeian whack job? Some crude implement of base destruction? I am a professional, an acclaimed devotee to the art of precise energetic vivisection and transmutation.” 

As the cruel villain slowly removed his other glove, Scott’s heartfelt like a panicked bird trying to escape his chest. Unable to bear the hunger in his assailant’s eyes or the waiting any longer, Summers looked away from the other’s poisonous gaze, closing his eyes and stilling himself to greet the cavernous jaws of death again. Momentarily, the scarlet-eyed mutant was struck by the fleeting spark of frustration at the injustice of his lot, the fact he had just came back only to die so soon. Soon, even that thought was snuffed out by the rising seditious tide of depression. Maybe, maybe it was better this way. He was so lonely and tired.

The first touch of the man’s demonic fingers at the nape of his neck was a bolt of sensation that jolted through him. It was like invisible hands had reached up into his core, grabbed hold and invasively plugged themselves in. Cyclops had tensed and braced for the expected agony. What he hadn’t anticipated was experiencing the opposite. Scott panicked. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Why wasn’t the monster killing him already?

The fiend had turned Summer’s nervous system into the strings of his harp as if it was a mere instrument to be fiddled with. “I’m not going to kill you, sugar. My boss needs you alive, in fact, one could say you’re the essential player in this shit show. You’re the guest of honor at his Sir Mincemeat’s party after all. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him, love. He becomes as grumpy as a royal puss in a downpour when he doesn’t get his way.”

Every time fear and anxiety tried to bubble to the surface, Cyclops felt a slight tug, then the feeling was gone, a fuzzy warm contented feeling filling the void. Aches and pains that Summers had forgotten he had were progressively vanishing. Stress and anxiety that had become his foundation were dissolving all around him leaving him floating in an abyss of vague mindless bliss.

“I’ll let ya in on a secret though, bright eyes, I could though,” the voice murmured into his ear as Cyclops felt the zipper of his costume being loosened and a hand is placed firmly on his sternum. Distantly, he felt his heart slowing, his breaths becoming shallow, and everything fading to black. “It wouldn’t even be hard.” 

Scott had the notion that he should be upset, but everything was light as if in a dream and he was so tired. The only thing that bothered him, was the sound of mournful howls in the distance.

Abruptly it all came back like blood to a tourniquet bound limb leaving Summers shaken and gasping. For a shivering instant, the hero recalled the severity of his situation as a rabbit may recognize the hunger for blood in the weasel as it lunges for its throat. For a moment Cyclops recognized the arms holding him so gently for the eviscerating Labyrinth that they truly were and his panicked gaze locked with Logan’s. 

Despite the visor, Wolverine could see in his friend’s gaze the desperate need for purchase seen in the eyes of the drowning and ensnared. In that brief eternity, Howlett put his own terror aside and tried to project as much reassurance as he could at his comrade; hoping to somehow be an anchor for Slim through whatever tribulation these monsters had in store for them. 

Logan’s faith in his ability to establish rapport with his estranged teammate was a fragile thing. His qualmful hope bore the likeness of a songbird that had been singing solo for a season. It was only natural to be suspicious of his wishful heart grasping at mirages and shadows. Likely the type of illusions produced from the tapestry woven by the baleful need of the damned for the reassurance of absolution. 

In response, Wolvie hopes that he saw Scott’s expression shift from fear, to surprise, to something Logan couldn’t place that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. His doubt in his own perception was banished as the afternoon sun chases away the fog of night as Cyclops finally gave a nod of confirmation with jaw clenched as his field leader steeled himself for whatever was to come. 

Then rogue was far too close to Slim for the Canadian’s stress levels to tolerate. Like a thief in the night, the green-eyed devil was intent on having his due. With a facsimile of saintly patience, those deceptively strong hands-on Summer’s jaw steered his gaze away from the bulwark he’d found in his friend's stormy gaze. Within moments, Scott found himself dissolving in a radioactive verdant stare.

AN: Songs Used:

[Always look on the Sunny Side](https://youtu.be/8VB5aBkRI7w)

From O’ Brother where art Thou

and 

[O’Death](https://youtu.be/mB6_BPT6VFk)

From O’ Brother where art thou


	3. The Key and the Lemon Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘You can open any gate if you only have the key.’
> 
> Before Scott could ask whoever, whatever it was or what the hell they meant by that vague statement he was interrupted. Unexpectedly he saw a line of red light appear out of the aether of his mind’s eye. Transfixed, Scott watched the light strand as it moved like a liquid string weaving and wrapping itself into the shape of a key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my betas:
> 
> Ineffablelawr, Deepspacepine, Huilian, and Myxmentrashblog
> 
> Also many thanks to those that encouraged me to keep going.

The Xman was disturbed to find that the mutant’s power faced less resistance as it slithered back into him with greater ease than before. Scott dismayed as his body avidly yielded to this dangerous man’s sway. Undeterred by his frantic disapproval, his baser instincts relinquished to the thrall of the Rogue with the shameless enthusiasm of a hound dog greeting its masters return. In short order, Scott felt the foreign presence wind like gravity around the crux of his vitality as it bound him tight in its parasitic grasp. His failed attempts to stifle the moans and little gasps the sensations swiftly coaxed from the normally stoic soul only exalted its gleeful conquest.

Anxiously, the Xmen leader worried he hadn’t actually escaped the devil’s grasp in his prior lucid moment with his friend. Perhaps he had been merely allowed to play out the line and given false hope of freedom. Only to be reeled back in earnest, invisible barbed hooks dug in deep ensuring any perilous struggles he mounted resulted in only further exhaustion. Like a needle to the vein, that giddy feeling diffused and saturated his body as it radiated from every teasing touch of those sinful hands. 

“Fortunately for you honey buns, I find myself rather fond of most Scott Summers I’ve had the opportunity to become acquainted with.”

The words rang as hollow to Scott as any reassurance a mongoose may give to a viper in plans to eat. Dimly he heard the sound of keys in the distance. The rational superhero within him was furiously typing a lecture in a corner of his brain, complete with annotations and highlighted sections. Watching the little dude, Scott was beginning to understand why students fall asleep during his lectures. Everything was so strange and his head felt clouded. His thoughts were like fluffy fuzzy bunny marshmallows, hoping through his fingers when he tried to catch them. His blood had turned to honey, his mind slow like molasses. 

Rational Scott was emphatically underlining the words **FIGHT ** with his pointer and **ESCAPE**. For the life of him, it wasn’t clicking for the rest of him poor guy, he tried so hard and cared so much, but nobody listened or took him seriously. As if hearing something this rational aspect of his mind, ever the dutiful field leader, paused. Was that the sound of a key being turned? His hands were free now? It felt so good to have his arms and hands-free. 

Cyclops groaned shamelessly as warm calloused hands rubbed the blood back into his strained limbs. Is it bad that he can’t recall being handcuffed? Or what he did wrong? Scott started to feel anxious, his mind frantically trying to determine his situation. He needed to form a plan of action, fulfill his responsibilities and gain control of the situation. When the hero realized that he had been reclining in a strange man’s lap, he startled reflexively. 

“You fret too much, handsome.”

A voice whispered as the hands moved to his temples and massaged them gently. There was an odd mental feeling like a cat licking salt from his skin. Every time he tried to worry, he found the mental energy he needed disappearing like fireworks sparking, smoldering and then fading to nothing.

“Scotty Darlin, yer like a long-tailed cat in a jump rope competition. So much stress and tension in a young ill-starred soul seeking comfort only to have it ripped away at every turn. To be left bereft with naught but cold steel and a terry cloth to cling to with all yer might. Just a hope-infested idealist.”

Cyclops couldn’t make heads nor tails out of what was being said, but the voice sounded comfortably familiar. If those hands kept unraveling years of tension, the chances of him comprehending were diminishing. 

“Sadder still, are the broken shards of what once gave joy but now make you bleed. This mad world cast you as its Atlas, a convenient scapegoat and sacrificial lamb. It’s a crying shame sweetheart Slim is never going to understand the true tragedy is he, Logan?”

Logan didn’t care for the look in those green eyes nor the way he was making Cyke into his lap cat or something. Wolverine couldn’t stand to see the fearless leader manipulated into the lap of the enemy and then seduced into enjoying being wrapped in their embrace.

“Granted, that milk was spilled long ago, wasn't it? No scruples about repurposing what is irrevocably broken, one of Xavier’s unspoken teachings from what I hear.” 

Commented Mr. Can’t Keep His Hands to Himself. The man’s voice as cotton candy airy as it was acidic. What bothered Logan must be not the demons teasing intonation, but the fact that he failed to find a satisfying counter to the accusations he so casually delivered. 

The animal in Logan had no concern for abstract morality, who was right or who was wrong. No, what was caused the beast within Wolverine’s hackles to rise was Green-Eyes was touching Slim. The Noble Creature couldn't tolerate the way he had made the normally uptight man look so thoroughly debauched. Every little noise he beguiled One-Eye to emit, incited it to growl and made it rattle the bars of its mental cage. Not to mention the fact he had removed Cyclops visor and had absorbed enough of his power that he could see Scott’s warm caramel eyes. His friend’s pupils were dilated, and he looked drugged.

Scott had a ghost of a notion that he didn’t like not being able to.._ yeah right there, more of that feels so good _. Think-- that was the word he was looking for. Lost in sensation, he butted the hand that was rubbing his forehead. Wasn’t there supposed to be something in the way? Oh, what does it matter? He can’t remember the last time he’d been touched like this. A selfish lonely part of him didn’t know what the hell was going on but honestly didn’t want to right now. Knowing would mean it would stop.

In some corner of his mind, his anxious strategic mind was trying to get the rest of him to pay attention. Damn it what was the fella upset about now, thought Scott with detached exasperation. The guy needed to take a break or somethin…

“Now a little bird has sung a curious song to my little ear that this universe’s Cyclops is as ornery, if not more troublesome than the typical Scott Summers. That you had burned bright, passionately lived your dream, protected your people, fought the man and the world hated you for it. The saddest part, no one really knows your melancholy mind do they Slim? Certainly not fur ball over here. You really gotta spend some time with me, love. Let ol’ Axl take some extra load off of those fine broad shoulders of yers.” 

Hey that _ tickles _, he thought as hot breath on his neck made him shiver. At the nuzzling, Cyclops blushed, unaccustomed to all the physical contact and the things those magic hands were doing to him. The contact flipped switches and turned dials long neglected in the stalwart hero. Repressive shame and anxiety lurked on the outside of the mutant's mind but did not hold sway.

“Some reckon Scott to be a true square brick house, bless his heart. Rumor has it, poor Scottyboyo here has a stick rammed up so high ol’ Vlad’s so shook, he turned over in his tomb. I’d be scandalized if I wasn’t so impressed by the man’s conviction, even if it’s the restraint of the profoundly repressed and domesticated. Maybe, they just didn’t have the right touch?” 

Seeing the death in Logan’s eyes for the threat it was, and hearing his challenging growl made the Malachite-Eyed devil’s smile with smug satisfaction. He delighted in the way this unnerved the feral creature simmering under the experienced warrior's skin, it wasn't the reaction that it had expected.

“Oh bless your primitive heart, have you haven’t deluded yerself into the notion that you have any claim here? Don’t piss on my shoes and tell me it was a downpour, Snow-Beaver. Bub, I did my homework. You don’t even like Mr. Summers and he can barely stand you. You have been at each other’s throats countless times, the press was even framing you two as the next Xavier and Magneto. I wouldn’t dare presume, you’d take issue with me helpin ol’ tight ass relax a smidge?”

Stirring from his bliss for a moment, Scott became aware that he was the topic of some kind of heated debate. Following that realization like thunder follows lightning, came the vicarious ripple of Logan’s emotional seas only a few feet away. His teammate appeared furious and upset noted Cyclops. He looked away overwhelmed by the feral mutant’s intensity. 

It felt like something sacred was being made a mockery of and..and...It was like he was being used as a tool, Scott thought dejectedly as understanding crystallized about just how compromised he had become. The Rogue positioned him so his assets were on full display by skillfully spreading his legs by widening his own stance. Scott blushed, ashamed for being displayed like a vixen in heat. The fact that this only turned him on further only added to his embarrassment. Snake Boots whistled in lewd appreciation. 

“Lord Almighty, the superheroes in your universe like to just put everything they got out on the showroom floor, don’t they? Scotty, you were the spiritual, sort I’d be able to ascertain your religion with ease.” 

Scott could just tell the man was looking him up and down with a knowing smirk.

“But it’s purely a strategic choice, not anything more to it….huh?”

Any argument Scott was going to make in his defense was never permitted to get off the ground. The devil abruptly licked a long stripe along the hero's neck, he was embarrassed to admit his squeak was not as quiet as he had hoped.

The mutant gently tilted the Xman leader, so they could talk face to face and Scott was hypnotized by the knowing look in those luminous eyes. 

“You don’t have love me sugar, but try, try to understand. I'm a magic man.”

Before, he could think of a reply the fiend resumed the unraveling of his carefully constructed control. If Scott Summers had hoped for mercy he was unlikely to receive any by the way this seductive creature ravished the sensitive areas on his neck. 

At the same time, those bewitching hands were wandering. One had snuck its way up the front of Cyclop’s costume and was tuning sensitive areas Scott hadn’t even been aware he had. It was the man’s other hand’s schemes that were the most dangerous. At the moment it seemed content with stroking the bashful Xman’s sides, but it kept drifting lower. 

It was too much. It was all too much. Scott was falling, coming undone, why was this happening? Why was he liking it? Countless other vital things he couldn’t even begin to put into the form of a question. He lacked control, he wanted answers, he desired a goddamn sit- rep, he needed help. Cyclops wasn’t one to give up or ask for deliverance from the cruel universe. Neither, was Scott Summers one to put stock in quotes about lack of religiosity and fox holes. Nonetheless, he was doing exactly that, with all his heart, all his soul. He hadn’t expected an answer. He got one regardless.

A voice that sounded like his voice? But younger? Reverberated not through his ears, or his mind but through something deeper, more than one lifetime.

_ ‘You can open any gate if you only have the key.’ _

Before Scott could ask whoever, whatever it was or what the hell they meant by that vague statement he was interrupted. Unexpectedly he saw a line of red light appear out of the aether of his mind’s eye. Transfixed, Scott watched the light strand as it moved like a liquid string weaving and wrapping itself into the shape of a key. 

Oh, thought Scott, that seems simple and straightforward enough. He hesitated for a moment feeling he was making a crucial choice blind. Still, he couldn’t think of a better solution. With resolution, Scott reached out and grabbed the key. Instantly he was back in the clandestine government anti-mutant facility that had apparently been taken over by mutants from another universe, one of which he was literally embracing. He was still held captive and no closer to having found their lost friends.

Something told him to reach out to see, so he grabbed the hand of the Rogue from another universe’s hand. And he saw. 

*******************************************

Instantly he felt a tilting sensation combined with the feeling of being grasped by an unseen force and as if he was being spirited away to somewhere else. Much to his relief disconcerting dissociative feeling dissolved as abruptly as it had arrived. Tentatively Scott took in his surroundings. 

To his surprise, he found he was in a flower-filled meadow during what looked like a lazy summer afternoon. It all felt completely real, down to the smell of grass, the pollen that tickled his nose and made him sneeze. The ground was soft but solid beneath his feet, even the lazy bumblebees and teasing gossamer flutter-bys seemed substantial. Spellbound Scott reached out a finger for one to land on his finger, so despite himself, he startled when it flew through his palm as if he was nothing more than smoke.

In the distance, Cyclops could see two people having what looked like a picnic. Scott stealthily approached to get a better look. They were both dressed in colorful clothing straight out of the 60s or 70s. They didn’t seem to notice him so Summers dared to creep closer. To his amazement, he found one of the guys looked just like him down to the ruby quartz glasses, but these specs were much more stylish. The piece's lenses were octagonal and held in delicate frames. It was a warm day, but Scott was still shocked that his doppelgänger had discarded his suit jacket with its psychedelic paisley pattern and bright fall colors.

Upon closer inspection, he noted that the jacket had been properly folded, which was a relief that at least some things didn’t change. This Scott had the scarlet sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, wore striped pants flared, a large medallion, a thick belt and longer hair. Most scandalous of all, his dress shirt was buttoned low. It was revealing enough that Cyclops could see his look alike’s chiseled strength lurking beneath and a soft down of chest hair rising from beneath the fabric like the first dawn’s light. 

The other Scott was relaxed in the shade of a tree with another young man who resembled the Green-Eyed Man. Except this Rogue looked younger and more innocent. He was dressed conservatively in a lime green turtleneck under a dark green sweater vest with silver ivy pattern, over light brown pants. In the man’s hand was an acoustic guitar that he strummed while singing as his look-alike listened intently. Again, Cyclops was struck by how different this version of their captor was and wondered what could have caused him to become the monster he was currently. The man’s resemblance to Marie was even more uncanny and Scott’s heart ached for his lost friend.

_ …”Don’t put your faith in love my boy, my father said to me. I fear you’ll find that love is like the lovely lemon tree..” _

_ “Lemon very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet, but the fruit of lemon tree is impossible to eat.” _

As Green-Eyed man played, he was so focused that the young man hadn’t noticed his foxy double had gotten into his personal space until he had finished his song. When the musician looked at where the alternate version of Scott had been he looked confused and crestfallen when he noticed his absence. 

“That was gorgeous darling,”

Stated this stylish version of Summers in a smoothly seductive fashion into his clueless companion’s ear. Caught unawares the bashful man was startled by how close his ruby clad fellow had crept into his personal space the other man squeaked, toppling back and away from the other man like a startled cat. His doppelgänger smiled in a serenely amused way and deftly caught the guitar that had been accidentally tossed in the shy fellas rush to put space between them.

“It was very sad though. I hope this isn’t how you truly feel about love?”

Looking like he had been prepared to go on a tirade but had been diverted by the other’s inquiry, the shy young man answered as if on automatic.

“Ah, my Mama always told me, love was a fool’s errand.” 

The flustered man tried his best to remove all dandelion fluff, grass and flower petals that had now adhered themselves to his clothes in the fall. As if he recalled he had some scolding to deliver the young mutant squared his shoulders and shooed the last leaf from his sweater vest. With excessive bravado, he brandished his gloved index finger like a weapon that could single-handedly ward off cupid's arrows at this flirtatious version of Scott. 

“What in tarnation was that Scotty? Do you have a death wish or somethin?! If ya do I’m not gonna be yer instrument of deliverance.”

“You just looked so cute, I couldn’t resist.”

“But my powers, I could kill you!” 

“I’m not afraid.”

Demurred this flirtatious Scott as he gently clasped the hand that had been thrust in his face and placed a kiss on the soft emerald leather-covered knuckles. The young man whose Auburn hair was crowned with starlight could do little to hide his blush.

“Ima about to jerk a knot in yer tail!! If ya touch me my powers are gonna drain ya of energy.” 

“And I have far too much energy,” 

”If anything you’d be doing me a favor. I think that the best way for you to gain more control over your abilities is to get lots of practice. However, you can’t do that if you're afraid to use your power in the first place. I will never have control over my powers because of the plane crash. But you Axl, I may be wrong but I think your brain is relatively undamaged…”

“Hey!”

“You’re a member of my team and my band,” continued Summers unabated.

”You can come closer if you want, I promise not to try to kiss you. That is if you’re not too chicken.”

The Green-Eyed man sighed grumbled under his breath how Scotty was crazy as a long-legged fox drunk on moonshine and how he was going to be the death of him someday. Regardless, he shuffled back over and nonchalantly made himself comfortable in the part of his friend’s lap not occupied by his guitar.

“To answer the question your song proposed, Bandit, Mrs. Frost says if life gives lemons you make limoncello.” 

When he noticed that his teammate had rolled their eyes at the mention of Frost, he raised an eyebrow.

“It’s my turn to play a song babe so you best listen because this one is straight from my heart to yours.”

_ “Here comes the sun (doo doo doo)” _

_ “Here comes the sun, and I say” _

_ “It’s alright.” _

Suddenly, Scott’s world dissolved into a dizzying whirl of colors, and he found himself yanked back to his universe.

********************************

“Axl Martin!! What in God's name are you doing?” 

Ordered a commanding female voice that had abruptly broken Scott from the trance he was under.

Axl dropped poor dazed Scott and stood up so quickly that one could have assumed the flummoxed fella was a hot potato. Summers became acquainted with the cold prison floor.

“Ooof!”

After which he wisely laid in a limp heap since he barely had the energy to budge an inch.

Logan on the other hand, was up in an instant, his senses on high alert. His inner animal told him not only were they at the mercy of a predator, but now its alpha had arrived. High on fight or flight, he made his plan of attack. If he gained the element of surprise, Logan reckoned he had a chance. If he could have freed himself and get to Cyke, Slim could take care of his restraints and then maybe they had a chance. 

As Wolverine’s heightened senses tracked movement nearby, he coiled like a viper ready to strike. Logan could sense this newcomer was slight, short in stature and female. He was no hot-headed machismo fool and knew better than to underestimate based on appearance. Wolverine was surprised nonetheless, as he took in the visage newcomer. 

Instantly he was reminded of Kitty and automatically halted his attack. What was an older version of half-pint doing here? Was this another alternate universe interloper? How many strange other alternate versions of them were running around this anti-mutant containment center? At the moment this facility seemed to have only contained their dumb asses. 

The stranger wore mismatched military clothing that reminded Logan of uniforms from the 1940s but with patches that he was unfamiliar. In particular, it reminded him of the clothing that snipers and partisans had worn. Most striking was the dark cape that looked like ones used by the most deadly Soviet snipers back in the day.

“Commander Kitty!!” 

The tall southern yelped as he was effortlessly pulled down to this fearsome woman’s level by her small gloved hand. 

“Zatkinis!!” 

Growled the fearsome woman, who to Logan’s shock seemed completely undaunted by the dangerous man’s stature or powers. On further inspection, he noticed the odd rifle secured behind her back in a manner from which it could be easily drawn. 

“I oughta knock yer block off!! You.. You...Turkey!!” 

She dragged the dapper man into her proximity as she scented him, a gesture that was intuitively recognized by the feral mutant. Wolverine watched Not-Kitty’s eyebrow rose behind her large aviator glasses, and she tilted her head in a thoughtful manner that oddly reminded Logan of Daredevil.

“You’ve been making a pass at the Englishman’s guests, haven’t you? You dog!! On top of that, you dusted an O.N. E agent without permission? If you can’t keep those mitts of yours to yourself, Martin, the boss is gonna flip his wig. He may put the kibosh on you for good this time.”

Declared the Commander as she twisted Axel’s ear with cruel precision, her dominance plain to see.

“Mercy!! Don’t clip my ears mam! Ya know how wound up these flatscan flunkies can make an honorable card-carrying mutant, like myself. I was so jonesen for a fix, I could’ve eaten the north end of a southbound polecat! I mean it’s not like you have great affection for these O.N.E lowlifes and I know you have a hankerin to cut through them like a hot knife through butter.” 

”We don’t have an unlimited supply of goons, Artificer.”

Noted the older women with pragmatic logic that in no way denied the other’s concluding assertion. 

“This is America, babe!”

Replied the green-eyed mutant with snarky sacrilegious wit as he gestured expansively.

”We’ve got everything in abundance except temperance.” 

Somehow Scott had found the strength to make it to his knees and was trying to stealthy crawl to the slain agent and the discarded keys he had spotted on the man’s belt while the two fiends we’re arguing. Though his arms were trembling, Cyclops fortified himself, just a little bit further.

“As for our vivacious visitors, I am deeply wounded by your slanderous insinuations against my character. I do declare, I am an innocent man!” 

Crowded Axel gesturing dramatically with his other hand which was placed over his heart. 

“Why, I was merely trying to get better acquainted with these fine examples of mutanthood in this universe while upon navigating the churning emotional waters of this primo Adonis..”

The Artificer looked down at where he expected the visor clad mutant to be only to find that the mutant had vanished. For a moment, Martin looked around in confusion for a moment until he zeroed in on the wayward mutant with the neglected keys nearly in his grasp. The mutant with the snow-kissed locks gave a wry chuckle as he glanced over at his companion, who did not look at him in turn but seem to have a grasp of the situation. 

“Can you believe it sugar? This was what I was talkin about.” 

Mused Axl as he stalked towards his wayward captive as if he was collecting a lost kitten. He snatched Scott from the ground by the fabric on the back of his costume and held him aloft. 

“This Foxey-Daddy just keeps on truckin.” 

Cyke struggled weakly in the dapper mutants grasp. 

“Why I find your plucky, stubborn, mulish attitude so endearing I could just kiss ya.” 

Radiant eyes look sideways at Logan, savoring the feral mutants distress and Martin’s vulpine grin widened. 

“In fact, I reckon I shall.” 

Before the exhausted visor-adorned mutant could process the meaning of the words that had just been exchanged, the roguish man kissed his cheek. Instantly Cyclops went limp and ceased resisting as the Artificer positioned him to lie across his shoulders like a felled stag a hunter is lugging to the fire and spit that is destined to skewer it. It was all too reminiscent of a lamb being carried off to the sacrificial altar for Wolverine to tolerate. 

The dark green suited man turned his back to Logan’s cell as if the beast behind him was of little consequence. Did the wicked-tongued aberration not comprehend the fact that many that had respected the beast had been subjected to the judgment of its tooth and claw?

“Slim!! Let him go you devil!!”

Demanded Logan, incensed. Unable to rein in his berserker rage any longer, Wolverine lunged and tried to catch the southern son of a gun with the chain that linked his cuffs. He might not have his powers, but it could just get a hold of the bastard and garrote him before he had a chance to get him with those wicked hands of his.

Much to Logan’s surprise, just as he found himself within a hair's breadth away from his adversary, he instead found himself smashed flat against the unyielding prison floor. The air had unexpectedly become heavy as the pressure in depths of the ocean. Logan heard the soft steps of combat boots approaching and then a petite hand was lifting his chin to ensure he was paying attention. 

“You seem like a decent fellow in this universe, Mr. Howlett. I’d hate to kill you so behave yourself now. Our benefactor needs Mr. Summers, so he’ll probably be returned to you. He needs you more alive than dead, so try not to give in to your self-flagellation compulsions if you care about your friend.”

Wolverine, ever full of smoldering embers of rebellion, despite the enormous force weighing him down, began to inch forward by inch until he was able to lay a hand on her boot. Since his prostrate position was far from an ideal angle he couldn’t be sure, but Wolvie thought he could see that odd head tilt again.

“Do your worst your worst yah blasted she-demon!! I can ‘andle anything ya, ghaa!! Put out, errragha!! Anytime!!! Anywhere!!!"

Wolverine was forced to catch his breath as the pressure on his power limited frame was making breathing slightly difficult.

“What’d yah say to that, Katherine?”

Her reaction was clear to see from the deepening of her frown, the twitching of a muscle in her jaw, and the hint of a raised eyebrow. Logan mentally patted himself on the back. He might be limited to annoying enemies, but he was going to do his best. 

“_ Je m’en fous _*…,I don’t have the time nor desire to deal with fools. Artificer! Get your Keister over here!” 

“Yes Mam!! Your bellow is my command.”

Replied Axel over-dramatically bowing deeply to the shorter woman, so much so that he almost dislodged poor Slim. Instead of dropping the exhausted X-Man, he hefted the unfortunate man like a sack of potatoes roughly enough that a faint oof was forced from Cyclops as the breath was forced from his lungs. At the sound of Logan’s snarl, the Artificer’s smile was a dark promise fit for the devil’s jester.

“Oh and Martin?" 

Remarked the Commander nonchalantly as she began to back up from whence they came.

“Yes darlin?” 

Said the Artificer cautiously having frozen in place at her first word.

“I know you have some strange fixation with Summers but do keep things proper.”

“Yes Ma'am, wouldn’t dream of doin otherwise!!”

Abruptly he felt the force holding him down vanish, the feral mutant struggled to his feet and faltered as his power-limited body reeled from the massive change in pressure. Just as he was falling a hand shot out and caught Logan by the throat.

“Need some help old man?” 

Sneered Martin as he lifted Logan up into the air, his voice like a lark spun from silk and barbwire. Suddenly Wolverine felt like hot lava was being injected into spinal cord. He would have been screaming if he had the air in which to do so. Scott heard everything as it filtered through his mind's exhausted haze, but was unable to move a muscle, let alone cease the tightening of the noose, fate ensnared them in.

Roughly Martin reeled him in close in a facsimile of an intimate embrace.

“Remember what I told you, James Howlett? This what happens when you get close to people. If you weren’t so weak then you could be his hero and save him for what is in store for your dearest Slim. Most tragic of all, if it hadn’t been for you, poor Cyclops would have likely escaped.”

“You know, Scott, sweetums, what I really wanna know is what the snow weasel wants when he’s hot an’ wanting, secretly dreaming of your supple body. Does he hunger to ride you like a poor Jockey yearns to ride secretariat in the Derby. I reckon he desires to wrestle ya Canadian style, put all four of your quarters on his spit and thoroughly stake a territorial claim upon your channels.” 

The roguish mutant gave Summers ass a sympathetic pat from the man’s hand inexorably holding him in place.

“I know honey buns, perish the thought!!”

Since the feral mutant's struggles had grown too feeble, the Artificer loosened his grasp on the helpless mutant, permitting the man desperate gasps of life-giving air and thus allowing him to regain the strength needed to resist some more. Cyclops felt himself flush in embarrassment and like cobwebs cast aside the lies their captor suggested Logan hated him and Cyclops had never witnessed him showing interest in men. 

Most of Scott felt despair and hated himself for not being able to help his friend. When he had been all alone in the world, Logan had been the only one to answer his call. Despite all their disagreements, this man has come to him in his aid out of the goodness of his heart and _ this _ was how he repaid his kindness? Some kind of leader some kind of friend.

With a speculative air of a cat idly spinning yarns about the secret life of the mouse held betwixt it’s paws, Axel tilted his head and continued. 

“Or perhaps he wants you to mount, ride him hard, and put him back wet. Maybe on those lonely nights after being an ornery widdle bastard to ya in the field, when he’s so very alone, width nuthin but his own hand for company? Perchance then when he reckons not a soul is around to testify, he howls at the moon like a Molly-cat caterwauling for the neighboring Tom-cat to make her a queen or….” 

Through all that Logan could feel that strange presence lurking throughout his body's nervous system. As the Artificer had begun to speculatively lampoon the feral mutant’s sexual proclivities, the Rogue had ceased his painful stimulation and instead was everywhere evaluating his prey’s response with cruel curiosity. The clawed mutant would feel profoundly humiliated if he wasn’t in a life or death struggle. For a moment he caught a glimpse at a surprised look on the man’s face as if he had obtained the results of his experiment and was surprised by the results. 

“Hmmm fascinatingly egalitarian pipe dream of yours Logan. Shame it will never get to see the light of day.”

With a smirk, the Green-Eyed man viciously tightened his hold once again heartlessly constricting Logan’s oxygen supply just as his body had begun to recover. What unnerved the adamantine warrior most, as the demon failed to cease strangling him, was the depth of fury and hatred he saw shining in that luminous gaze.

A flash of insight struck Wolverine’s deprived brain that this wrath must be for some counterpart of his out there. His hide had become a convenient canvas for the snake boots to project upon. In all likelihood him and slim had become little more than puppets bound to fulfill some dark fantasy. 

As darkness began to creep at the edge of his vision it wasn’t for his own sake but for the Boy Scout’s sake. He may not be of any help but at least the man had his poor company to fall back on. Wolverine has lived so long being alone doesn’t faze him and at times may even suit him. 

Conversely, any Xman worth their salt and spandex knew there was something just plain wrong about a Cyclops left alone, especially with such bad company. As long as the lanky man had a teammate to fight for he could overcome anything. Doing so for his own well-being, though, was another matter. 

From a young age Scott Summers had been taught his own needs and wants were not of consequence. He had been groomed to see his own self-worth only in terms of what value he could give to others or a cause, but never permitted to see himself as having any intrinsic value purely for himself. A creeping nightmare of a vision filtered at the edges of his mind's eye of Scott curled in on himself in a corner of that dark cold cell, eyes vacant, living but for all purposes dead to the world.

Scott was so deeply entangled in the undertow of his despair that he barely felt the soft touch of strong calloused hands on the top of his head and suddenly it was like a weight had been lifted from his soul. For a moment he smells pine trees, hot cocoa, the feel of a cool snowy night breeze and the warmth of a wool blanket. 

To Cyclop's to his amazement found he had gained the strength to lift his head and blinked as a bright ethereal green light startled him. When he once again opened his weary eyes to glimpse the hand's owner, he found the visage of a lanky man wearing a red plaid shirt. What inspired the shiver unease in the Xman, however, was that the visitor had the head of a dog. Scott had seen a lot of unusual things but that was a new one. 

Axel felt a tug on his suit's lapel and nearly jumped out of his own skin. 

“Hellfire and damnation!! Quit creeping about kid! Ya wanna give me complex?”

The strange young man shook his head. Apparently mollified, the Artificer made to turn back to his task only for the quiet newcomer to firmly reach up and tug on the hand holding Logan. 

“What?! This dog won’t hunt, he bites and pees on what don’t belong to him.” 

Wolverine had become limp in the dapper devil's hand. Unable to mount much of an opposition, Scott could do little but rest his hope in the hands of this odd lanky fellow. The unknown man gritted his teeth in a manner that reminded Scott of how he did a similar thing when holding back his temper. Deftly the young stranger positioned himself in front of Martin to ensure that he had his full attention.

“What now Spooky Kid? You a hoarder of hairy men now as well?”

The man in plaid was unmoved. 

“Fine!! Take em’ but don’t say I didn’t warn ya!!" 

Hissed the Artificer as he dropped Logan, who fell to the ground gasping. The mysterious man's presence caused a curious feeling of dejavu in the Xmen's field leader. Scott normally took pride in his extensive knowledge of who was who in the hero and villain community but couldn't recall ever meeting that mystifying character. 

As the darkness closed in from all sides, Logan saw eyes, green eyes like those of a nocturnal carnivore. Yet, it was the words that the beast spoke with a voice like a spoonful of poison sweetened with honey that haunted his nightmares.

“It’s like my Mama always said, Logan, if you can’t run with the big dogs, you best stay under the porch.” 

The last thing Wolverine sensed before the shadows enveloped him was the sound of leather boots strolling away and eerie laughter.

***** *******************************

“Giddy up, mustangs!! We best keep right on rollin’ ponies or Mr. Atmospheric will be fixin to cut off all y'alls tails an’ roast em for supper!!” exclaimed Axl.

“You have an uncanny knack for stating what is plainly perceived by all.”

“Why bless your heart, puddin, I can’t tell you how much it tickles me pink that you value my keen logical mind and oral skills. It makes me feel like singing..”

”Please don’t.”

“Fuzz pup?”

Asked the rogue, as he turned to the younger man beside him. The canine-headed man shrugged, his apathy plain for all to see. 

“Y'all are as fun as a bunch of kittens with barbwire tails, just how I like em.”

The Artificer chuckled to himself then as if struck by a mischievous idea. He grinned as he turned to Summers who was suspended between the waking world and the dreaming one. He took on a surprisingly accurate impression of Xavier’s voice as he whispered in the dazed mutants ear.

”Attention Cyclops I have some danger room field tests that urgently need to be run through! Are you able to complete this vital task?”

“Yes sir, professor, sir.” 

Murmured Cyke with his eyes closed.

”Yawwwn right away, sir.”

“Ya here that? Our esteemed guest has submitted a request for my angelic voice!” 

Proclaimed Axl dramatically. The fierce commander seemed prepared to belabor this point but was preempted by Axl singing anyway.

_I like to dream, yes, yes._

_Right between the sound machine._

_On a cloud of sound I drift in the night._

_Anyplace I go is right_

_Goes far, flies near_

_To the stars away from here_

_Well you don’t know what _

_We can find _

_Why don’t you come with me Scott_

_On a magic carpet ride_

********************************

Exhausted and lulled by the man’s rich baritone, Scott had fallen into a deep sleep. Only to be suddenly awoken by the disturbingly familiar sensation of hungry eyes leering at him. Not feeling the weight of a visor or glasses on his face, Cyclops automatically closed his eyes tightly. 

“Open your eyes sweet prince there’s a chorus of demons serenading you with pomp and circumstance. There are resplendent castles and mighty empires to be rent asunder and woeful imperfection to be washed away. A deeply flawed tangle to be reforged from the shining torch of elegant rationality, a most beneficent galvanized vision.”

Purred a demonic voice unnaturally reverberating like thunder stolen from the gods made flesh and poisonously smooth like flowing mercury. Early years of helpless terror had woven the memory of his inhuman tormentor into the weft of the deep roots of the synaptic forest of Cyclop’s mind, his reaction upon recognition was as immediate as it was instinctual. If he was afraid before, Scott’s trepidation was now rooted deep in his bones.

Lesser eyes, unfamiliar with the subtle mannerisms of this subject would have missed the slight shiver that his soothing voice elicited in Summer’s slim frame. Nathaniel, on the other hand, had taken much time and effort to extensively study this rare specimen.

Upon observing this quiver, the geneticist couldn’t help but smile wider, his pale lips stretched unnaturally over needle-like fangs. Pale long-nailed hands creepily stroked under this favorite specimen's jaw as the scientist tested whether a physical stimulus would facilitate invoke the preferred response. 

The subject due to it’s chronically stubborn nature, need to collect visual input, refused to open its eyes and instead did little more than shudder further. As manual contact was transferred to feather-light strokes applied to its eyelids it attempted to protectively curl in upon itself, only to discover it was unable to do so in its restrained position.

“I intend to remake this imperfect multiverse. You, my chosen one, are the naked raw material I will fashion into the key that will light the path and dilate the orifice through which the multiverse will be birthed anew in my divine image.”

Rumbled the mad scientist with a tone as fluid as a stormfront witnessed at sea. 

“Cease your podsnappery, Summers or I will find myself curious in examining your barbaric uncivilized friend's innards in greater detail,”

Threatened the speaker with gleeful malevolence.

** _No!! _ ** Thought Scott, heart skipped a beat at the thought of his friend having to suffer from this _ thing’s _ cruel attention. He hastily opened his eyes as commanded, only to have his heart sink further as his eyes' confirmation made his predicament all that more real. Before Scott was the vampirically pale-skinned features with a contrasting beard, hair, and costume all dark as pitch. Most striking of all was the demon’s glowing scarlet gaze between which the characteristic blood-red diamond was undeniable. ** _Sinister!_ **

** _Definitions:_ **

_ Je m’en fous - _I don’t give a fuck (French)

Zatkinis - shut up (Russian)

Molly cat - a female cat

podsnappery - victorian slang - ' Willful determination to ignore the objectionable or inconvenient, at the same time assuming airs morally superior virtue and resignation.

** _Songs:_ **

_Lemon Tree - Peter Paul and Mary_

_Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles _

_Magic Carpet Ride - Stephen Wolf_

_referenced_

_When the Man Comes Around_

_Little Queen- Heart_

_Magic Man - Heart_

_I Will Possess Your Heart - Death Cab For Cutie_

** _ _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT Chapter: Tea Party Begins 
> 
> Comments and feedback is greatly appreciated.


End file.
